Metamorphosis of Fate
by Shadow Dragon
Summary: When Val stumbles into a conspiracy, she has nothing but an old flame and a sense of self to save her. As she changes, Val must come to terms with the man she once loved, and the man he is now. Chapter Three Out!
1. The Conversation, The Airport, The Car R...

A/N: This is my first IaHB fic, but it's not my first fic. I hope you people will be nice to me (no hazing, please…heehee). The characters and situations in this fic were imitated clearly for use of entertainment. I do not own any of these characters (except Nigel Hawke, and I don't even own HIM yet). If I owned these characters, this would have come out a long time ago in the form of a movie. No money is being made off of this fiction.

Summary: When Val stumbles into a conspiracy, she has nothing but an old flame and a sense of self to save her. As she changes, Val must come to terms with the man she once loved, and the man he is now. 

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Segment One: The Conversation

"Ack!" Val Lanier made a noise she was sure she could never replicate again and flopped down into the first chair she came to, a pouf. She then proved her theory wrong by duplicating the noise, and following it with a groan. "This can't be happening to me."

Caitie Roth-Waite gave her best friend a strange look through the walls separating them. "You say this every time you come to Calimbre," she observed suspiciously, following Val's rather crazed path through her house. "Calimbre" was actually the name of the house Caitie now lived in; giving it a name had only seemed to cinch the fact that the dream home was theirs. When she came into the living room, where Val had collapsed, she handed her friend a cup. "Drink that, it'll help." She picked up a feather duster and returned the menial task she had been performing before Val's rant.

Val took a sip and tried not to wrinkle her nose. "Did Jamie bring you more tea from one of his trips, or something?" She took another sip, but her hopes were dashed away; the tea did not improve with the second taste.

"Yes, well, you know." Caitie shrugged and waved the duster at Val. "The only way to get rid of it, besides slip it into the dog's bowl, is to pawn it off on you. You always drink it, too. You're too nice." The ten years they had been out of high school had done wonders to Caitie; her hair was pulled into an elegantly simple twist, giving her the air of a millionaire's wife. Of course, Jamie, at twenty-six, was no millionaire, but his articles in the medical journals had been enough to pull the Waites into a rather nice neighborhood. Caitie's exquisite taste only seemed to give the house a boost of wealth; she had decorated in shades of mahogany and hunter green, making the room seem rather tasteful. Of course, the kitchen was done in the style of a fifties kitchen, including checkered wallpaper.

"Hardy har-har," Val said, but she took another drink. "What do they put into these things?"

Caitie's only answer was a shrug. "For all I know, elephant dung and wheat." She chuckled as Val spat the liquid she'd been in the process of swallowing back into the cup. "Oh, relax. It's oat-flavored tea, of all things. Jamie was rather enthused to find it. He absolutely adores the stuff."

"He would," Val choked.

"Anyway, it's supposed to calm you down so that you stop making those noises." Caitie pulled off one of Jamie's old plaques and gave that a good dusting. "Which are noises you make when you're distressed by the newest gentleman in the charming life of dazzling Valerie Lanier. So, what's the problem today? Whose heart did you break?" Twenty-seven thin, blonde, and with a successful career kicked off, Val Lanier had it all, including trouble with men.

"Sugarcoat it, why don't you?" Val demanded sarcastically. "And no, I didn't break any hearts today, Mrs. Roth-Waite."

"Oh, then, Miss Lanier, do tell." Caitie turned slightly to let Val see the teasing smile.

"It's Jeremy again," Val admitted. She stood and headed back towards the kitchen, where her first rant of strange noises had commenced, and returned shortly, free of the offending oat-tea.

"Wait, wait," Caitie interrupted before Val could say anything, "let me figure this one out. You guys had a fight, right? Don't say anything, just nod." Silent, Val nodded. "Can I guess what it was about?" No nod came this time, just a simple stare. "I'm assuming that this is about the fact that you won't let Jeremy sleep with you, then."

"No, _last night's_ argument covered that. _Today's_ the day he showed up at my front door, completely drunk. Oh, yes, and today," Val's voice, unnoticed to her, had risen several decibels, "was the day that I dumped the fourth guy that has done this to me."

"I thought you said you didn't break any hearts." Caitie's eyes narrowed and she walked forward so that she was nearly nose to nose with her best friend. "Are _you_ drunk? Here, follow the finger." Val sighed, but obediently let her eyes trail the finger Caitie held up in front of her face.

"Caitie, I'm _fine_." To prove her point, Val kicked off her shoes and jumped up onto the recliner beside the pouf. She balanced easily on one foot, tilted her head back, and touched her nose. "See? Completely sober. I haven't touched a drink in six years. You know that."

"Except for oat-tea. Get down from the furniture before Jamie and the kids come back and see you." Caitie grinned. "Word, I'm too much like a mother."

"Um, dear, you _are_ a mother." Five-year-old Jason Waite and seven-year-old Tanya Waite were currently at the park with their father, catching up on time that they had lost while Jamie was in Zimbabwe. Val nearly grinned now, despite her slight guy-trouble. Jamie had worried so much about becoming a dead-beat dad when Tanya was born. Val had actually been in the room, doing her internship at the hospital, the first time Jamie had held Tanya. This was because the first time Jamie had held Tanya, he had been in his own hospital bed. Caitie wouldn't have to worry about a dead-beat husband; Jamie had passed out the first time he had gotten a look at Tanya.

Caitie rolled her eyes now and gestured for Val to tell her story. "Sorry," Val apologized, slowly climbing off of the chair and sitting cross-legged on the pouf. "You're right, by the way. We had a falling-out last night, and this morning, he showed up completely drunk. At ten o'clock in the morning. Then he tried to make a move on me, but I used those Tai-Bao lessons I've been taking daily for once. I drove him out onto the porch."

"Where you promptly broke the poor guy's heart?" Caitie finished for her.

"Okay, can I tell this story without you making me sound heartless?" Val shook her head and flopped back against the pouf, making another one of her vintage noises. "Why is that I have been through twelve men in the past eight years, and not one of these relationships has ended well?"

"You're too pretty, that's what it has to be," Caitie evaluated. "Guys fall for you when they first see you, get to know you, want to get physical, you don't want that intimacy until you have some proof of long-term commitment. Voila, we have a problem."

Val opened one eye to give her best friend a lazy glare. "So you're saying I have commitment problems, is that it?"

"You read that from my speech? Are you sure that I'm supposed to be the psychologist here?" Caitie moved the duster over a picture of a four-year-old Tanya playing soccer. "Look, Val, to be frank, you're holding out for something that's not going to happen in your life." She stopped dusting the picture to glance at another, four pictures down. She had taken the picture years before—it was Jamie, Hank Beecham, and Tyler Connell. Hank was holding Tanya up and Tyler was moving one of her little hands to make it look like the infant was waving at the camera. Jamie was reaching towards Tyler, trying to get him to stop. Caitie hadn't even meant to take the picture, but it had turned out to be a masterpiece.

"Remember that dance?" Val asked suddenly, opening both eyes and leaning forward. "When I really wanted to go with Tyler, but he ended up going with…I don't remember her name."

"Useless, blonde bimbo will do fine." Caitie shrugged, waiting to see where Val was going with this little stroll into memory lane. Being a psychologist, even interactions with Val intrigued her.

"Okay, well, anyway, he ended up going with her and I ended up going to work." Val finished. "I was holding out, and eventually Tyler stayed after and watched 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' with me. Holding out's not necessarily a bad thing." It was amazing how nonchalant she could be about Tyler, Caitie mused, after all the heartache they had gone through.

"Yes," Caitie said, replacing the picture she had been holding. "That's true. However, you have to remember that the dance was still high school. We still lived conformist lives, we still were taught conformity, and personality didn't matter. This is the real world, where personality holds more than you could think. Holding out just doesn't do you any good in the real world. People have changed too much."

Val stared at her best friend of so many years for a long moment, a level below scratching her head. "Okay," she finally said in a puzzled tone. "That was the psychoanalytical writer in you speaking. Now, how about I get the friend's opinion on this whole matter? Do you even think it's possible that the thing I'm holding out for is…"

"Anything's possible," Caitie said when she was sure Val wasn't going to go on. "The mind is capable of far more abilities than we know. Just wait. It happens to everybody. It'll be your turn someday." 

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Segment Two: The Airport

"Will you require anything else, sir?" 

"No, Nigel, I'm sure that's fine." Tyler Connell pried his baggage away from the driver that the agency had sent out to collect him and smiled reassuringly at the man. Nigel Hawke was a timid man not much older than Tyler was, which was why Tyler respected him so much. The only problem with Nigel was that he was too shy at times, and that it was hard to make friends with him. "Just lead me to the car, so we can get this case started."

Being the weekend after July 4th, the airport was quite busy. Perhaps it was the black shades Tyler wore, or the profession leather jacket (despite the heat in July), but people seemed to part out of the way for him. In his years at college, Tyler had managed only to become taller, which was startling in itself. The fact that he still had the broad-shouldered body of a football player only served to his advantage. Crowds moved naturally for Tyler Connell. "So, what's on the schedule, Nigel?"

The agency driver nearly stuttered. "Just another mystery for you, sir. This one involves murder. Agent Neuro will give you the briefing, as usual. Of course, you do know that this strictly does not involve the FBI or the CIA or any other form of governmental agency?"

"I'm a freeloading bounty hunter, Nigel. I'm well aware of my limits." Tyler flicked his black shades once, a habit he had picked up at the Police Academy, and gave the airport a once over before Nigel lead him to an old Toyota Camry. "I see the ride's improved from Ford," he remarked as he climbed into the driver's seat. Nigel handed him a set of keys as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Ooh, weaseled us a stick-shift, too. Good job, Nigel, old sport." Glancing over his shoulder, Tyler slammed the car into reverse. The wheels squealed as he backed it up.

"Mr. Perkins is well aware of your driving habits. Otherwise, we would lend you the Jaguar," Nigel said dully, holding onto the handle above the door.

"I can get a Jaguar any day I want to." Tyler was not bragging; he had come into a large sum of money for the catch of a public enemy. If this case paid as much as it was rumored to, Tyler would have enough money to rent a small place in his old hometown and work his dream job in the hospital. "A good, dependable car that I can screech the tires on is a luxury in my line of work. Has the Agency moved or is it still as bloody hard to find as ever?" Tyler's days in Europe had given him a bit of an accent, which made him sound "alluringly sexy," according to many of the girls he met in his line of work.

"No, Mr. Connell, I'm afraid that it is still in the same place as it has been every time," Nigel said calmly.

"Oh, good. Five hours of driving, then. I'm gonna grab a soda. You want anything? Soda-water or whatever you drivers drink?" Tyler's eyes searched the crowded airport road for the sight of a drink stand. "Ah, there's a gas station up there." He quickly turned onto the exit. "No, wait, you're Nigel. That means you like Mountain Dew."

Nigel's expression seemed to brighten that Tyler had remembered this bit of information. "Of course, sir," he said, wincing as Tyler pulled the screaming Camry into the parking lot. The bounty hunter disappeared into the gas station and reappeared minutes later with four bottles of soda in his hand.

"It's going to be a long trip. Look, I got peanuts, too."

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Segment Three: The Car Ride

"Val, the meeting starts in ten minutes!"

Val swung her old '98 Saturn onto the road leading up to the Interstate and groaned as she saw a plethora of red. "Bad news, Marco. The traffic's backed up way past Kingsport. And I'm only in Wellenboro." She nudged the green Saturn in behind a BMW and tried to block out the incessant honking. There must have been an accident up the road a way and she could see no sign of the traffic letting up at any distance.

"Wellenboro?" Marco demanded over the cell phone. Val winced, but smiled. Marco Lawrence sounded like he was going to burst a vein. "How can you only be in Wellenboro?"

"My clock was wrong. Give me a break. I'll be there as soon as I can." With that, Val snapped her cell phone off and tossed it into her purse, ignoring the ringing that it produced seconds later. "Geez, Marco," she breathed to herself. "Relax. You're going to become one of your own patients that way."

Really, she was well past Wellenboro, only twenty minutes away from where the seminar was being held. Still, let Marco sweat a bit while the Saturn dodged traffic. For five minutes, she inched forward slowly, continually stopping as the BMW ahead slammed on its brakes time after time. After a moment, she pulled out her Classic Hits CD and popped that into the player. The glorious vocal pipes of Aretha Franklin sang out into the Saturn. After a few moments of sitting there, Val started to sing along.

"Aretha Franklin?" a voice asked close to her ear. "You looked like more of an Elton John fan."

Val screamed and slammed on the brake, causing her precious car to screech to a halt. She could hear honking behind her, but she didn't care. Her eyes were fastened on the man in a suit sitting in the back seat. "What—who—"

"Jack Smith, Dr. Lanier." Jack climbed into the front seat and smiled, showing Val a full set of gleaming teeth. Despite the fact that he was wearing a suit more expensive than Val's tiny apartment cost, he looked entirely comfortable in her old Saturn. He ran a hand through dark blond hair and laughed. "I apologize for startling you. You might want to start going again."

_This can't be happening to me,_ Val's mind thought frantically as she turned and moved her car forward with the rest of the traffic. "What are you doing in my car?" she asked in a shaky voice. Immediately, her mind raced to a million different possibilities, none of them good. Oh, word, was she going to end up like one of those cases on TV?

Jack Smith was a handsome man, and he knew it. He flashed those pearly whites at Valerie Lanier again, and leaned back in his seat, pulling out a palm pilot. "You know Tyler Connell?" he asked instead of answering. "Keep driving, don't give me that look. I've got a gun in my pocket."

Val bit her lip hard and kept her eyes focused forward on the road. "What do you want from me?" 

"Information on Tyler Connell, baby, that's it." Jack flashed her that grin again, although now it held a note of menace. "When is the last time you talked to Mr. Connell?"

Val frowned at the road. "Why are you bothering _me_ about it? I haven't seen him in seven years, and I barely got to see him then. So actually, I haven't seen him in nine years." Well aware of the gun in Jack Smith's pocket, she leaned down and turned the radio's volume lower. The powerfulness of Aretha Franklin was reduced to a low hum.

"I see. What is your relation to Connell?"

"We were friends in high school. You know, football player, cheerleader sort of thing. Members of the Super-Squad. He left town, I left town. I came back, he didn't. Over and done with it now. Why are you interested in Tyler?" She could feel the beast of panic deep inside, barely held back by the strong personality traits of Valerie Lanier. She would not panic now; being an EMT had trained her better than that. She was going to find a way out of this. Her breath, though, as she sucked for oxygen, was shaky.

"I see. So you have had no contact with Connell?"

"We're finally seeing eye-to-eye here," Val snapped crankily. "No, I haven't heard from him. I think I got a birthday card one year, but it was a month late. _Why are you interested in Tyler_?" The last question was enunciated so that there was no way Jack Smith could misunderstand her. Val was used to this; some of her patients sometimes had trouble hearing, so Val had become quite adept at communicating. It was one of the most vital things about being a doctor.

"That, my dear doctor, is for me to know. Whether you actually get to know or not, that's up to me, too. Pull off here." Jack nodded at the exit to Rae Hollow, three towns away from the seminar Val was supposed to be at in two minutes. Val swung the old Saturn onto the exit ramp and sped through it at 63 miles an hour, even though the sign warned of going faster than 40. She had always been a speed demon, which was probably why Hank would never let her drive anywhere. That, and the fact that she despised seat belts. Up ahead of them, the light turned red. "We're going to take a left at the light and then pull off into a bus-station parking lot about a mile up."

They were approaching the light. "What are you going to do with me?" Val asked, finally letting the panic crawl into her voice.

Jack gave her a lazy look. "I'm not sure," he answered, and scratched his head.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" Now the panic was evident, a chunk of rock among the melody of her voice. Val's eyes were wide as she started to slow the Saturn.

"Well," and Jack scratched his head lethargically, moving so that he was relaxed against the seat, "you're not hard on the eyes at all. They give an agent freedom to do what they will with the captives nowadays, too. Didn't use to be like that, sure. We used to drag captives into labs and do 'tests' on them. Now I get you all to myself." He reached out to touch her shoulder, laughing harshly as she squirmed away from him. "What's the matter, _dear_?"

"Keep away from me." Val's voice was steel as she glared at her captor. "I mean it. _Don't touch me_." Years of cheerleading moves flew back into her head as she thought of ways to break this man's nose without getting blood on her new tank top.

"Whatever you say, baby," and Jack leaned back again, smiling smugly as Val slowed the vehicle to a halt. "Don't forget about the bus station, now," he warned.

"Oh, I won't." And Val was out the door, as quick as any cheerleader to greet the winning hometown football team. Jack Smith cursed as he realized that he had forgotten to lock the doors. Quickly, he climbed out of the Saturn, springing forward as it started to roll backwards. Cursing blondes and stick-shifts alike, Jack sprinted after his hostage, trying to pull his gun out as well.

Val's short, slim frame gave her an agility that Jack, being on the taller, heavier side, did not have. The fact that she arrived at the hometown gym every morning at precisely seven o'clock lent her an endurance that nearly matched Jack's. Despite her agility and endurance, however, Val had never been much of a sprinter. Jack Smith was starting to advance on her. He would reach her soon unless she could shake him. Quickly, Val darted across traffic and sprinted into the forest, cursing as she realized that she would soon be lost in this thick stand of trees. Still, she was determined to escape. Ahead, on a narrow path, she saw a busy lane of traffic.

Her only escape was blocked.

And Jack Smith was gaining on her, a gun in his hand.

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Segment Four: The Reunion

"Oh, great, traffic's backed up for miles," Tyler swore to Nigel, who was clinging to the handle on his door. "Stop looking like that. My driving's _safe_." He quickly defaced that point, however, by making an abrupt and dangerous lane-change.

"Safe for _who_?" Nigel retorted, face ashen.

Tyler, instead of growing angry at the agency's employee, laughed. "See, that's what I'm talking about," he said. Nigel gave him a confused expression; what _was_ Tyler talking about? "That's what I mean, Nigel, you're lightening up. We might even have a friendship going by the end of this bloody trip."

"If we're still alive, that is." Nigel forced himself to release his grip on the door and silently thanked whoever had come up with the idea of seat-belts. Surely, they knew that Tyler Connell was coming into the world soon. "Your exit is about five miles up, by the way."

This spurred a groan from the leather-jacket clad Connell. "Five miles of _this_?" he complained, jabbing an arm at the bumper-to-bumper traffic all around them. "I'm going to go mad, I'm sure." He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it with a snap. "Nigel?"

The agency employee looked up from his palm pilot. "Hmm?" he asked.

"Would you recognize an agent who goes by Jack Smith if you saw him sitting in the car next to us?" Tyler's voice was calm, but Nigel could detect a slight shake in the undertone. "Especially if he's sitting in there with an utterly terrified woman?"

Nigel glanced over and swore, his hand automatically reaching for the sniper pistol her carried beneath his suit jacket. "That's Smith, all right," he snapped. "Most wanted agent by our agency. What's he doing out in the open?"

"Doesn't know I'm in town, obviously." Tyler's eyes were hard as he slowed the Camry and changed lanes so that he was behind the Saturn. "Don't shoot him." When Nigel opened his mouth to demand why he shouldn't shoot the man who should become a public enemy, Tyler snapped, "If you shoot the woman in that car with him, I'm afraid I won't be able to forgive you. We're going to follow him. Put on your shades, and take off the suit jacket. Lose the tie, too." Grumbling, Nigel holstered his gun and did as Tyler directed. He watched in confusion as Tyler turned on the radio to the Camry, automatically turning it to the local Heavy Metal station, and started blasting the radio. "Alert the headquarters that Agent Smith has been spotted and that we are on his trail. He has Dr. Valerie Lanier, age twenty eight, hostage in a '98 Saturn. The car is hunter green in color and has the license plate D-R-V-A-L-9-8. That is DR VAL98."

"Roger that." Even though Nigel was sure that headquarters would not be able to hear the message with Metallica in the background, he relayed the message. "The headquarters has been informed."

"Good. Now, how are you at calming hysterical women?"

"I don't know. Never had the chance." Nigel had to reassure himself that Tyler indeed knew what he was doing. Nothing made much sense to him right now, but Tyler always seemed to pull out of everything with only a few cuts and a clean record. He was the best agent up for hire, which was why Nigel's agency had fought so hard to hire him.

"Okay. You go after Smith, then, and I'll track Dr. Lanier down." Ahead of them, the Saturn stopped completely and Nigel could see Jack moving in the car. "Oh—!" Dr. Lanier exploded from the car and sped across the field separating the exit ramp and the main highway through Rae's Hollow. Nigel had to hand it to her, she was fast and a good runner. But Jack Smith would run her down. Nigel did not stop to think; he flew out of the passenger side of the Camry, sprinting after Agent Smith. Behind him, he could hear a curse from Tyler and the telltale screech of the Camry's tires as Tyler sped away to meet up with Dr. Lanier.

Tyler nearly made the car dance as he exploded onto the main highway. Val, he could see, had run straight into a stand of trees along the highway. If he judged her path correctly, she would emerge from the trees along a road running perpendicular to the one he was speeding along now. Without touching the brakes, Tyler screeched onto the predicted road and ground to a halt in the middle of the lane. A Volkswagon Jetta behind him honked as it nearly bashed into him. It sped around him, the driver leaving a very rude sign in his wake. Still, Tyler did not move. He was too busy scanning the edge of the woods for Val.

Finally, he spotted the distinct blonde hair (still natural, amazingly). He could also see Jack Smith advancing on her and realized that unless he personally stopped Agent Smith, Val was as good as gone. Nigel may have been fast, but he was not speedy enough to save her in time. Tyler burst from the car and sprinted across the meadow adjacent to the stand. He did not pause to think, he only flew into a tackle reminiscent of his football days. Jack Smith raced through the hedges just in time to be caught full in the chest by Tyler's tackle.

Immediately, Tyler flipped the agent onto his back, his gun pressed to Smith's cheek. "Give me one reason," he snapped, securing Jack Smith's wrists with handcuffs he always kept clipped to his belt. "Give me one good reason, and I'll pull this trigger right now and make you ancient history."

Smith laughed, but Tyler could see the fear in his eyes. Smith was still human, despite the fact that there was blood of nearly a hundred on his hands. He feared death, still. "Good show, Connell. Good show. You caught me. Put the gun away before you hurt yourself." Tyler jerked harshly on the handcuffs, but this only spurred Smith to laugh again. "Do you want me to say Uncle now?" he mocked.

"I want you to say 'Guilty,' that's what I want," Tyler said, and hauled Smith to his feet as Nigel arrived. "I want you in a prison, with bars on your wrists and ankles, and I want you to _live_ with what you've done." With military efficiency, he searched and disarmed the opposing agent. He then tossed one of Smith's guns to Nigel, who caught it and aimed it at the agent's chest. "The headquarters should be here any minute. _Don't take your eyes off of him, do you hear me_? I want you to keep that gun level at his chest the whole time. Don't waver, don't listen to him. I'm going after Dr. Lanier."

"Finally doing your own dirty work, Connell?" Smith taunted as Tyler headed off to track Val. 

"Stuff it, Smith!" And with that, Tyler was gone, off to find his ex-girlfriend.


	2. The Meeting, The Fax, The Headquarters, ...

A/N: This chapter was a bear to write. Very little of Nigel in it, but don't worry. Plus, we get to meet Hank and Jamie!!

Chapter Summary: It's been nine years since they so much have said "hi" to each other, but now Tyler and Val are being thrown into a huge plot together. Problem is, will they take it to their heads to get along?

Disclaimer: I'm just here to play, really. That's all it is. I promise that I will return all of the characters except Jack Smith, Tanya and Jason Waite, Charlee Beecham, Nigel Hawke, and Edward "Neuro" Hallein. 

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Segment One: The Meeting

Val was only vaguely aware that the agent who called himself Jack Smith was being held captive at gunpoint by a person who would become her friend. 

She was also only minimally aware that she was sprinting across a busy lane of honking cars. And she was definitely not aware that she was being followed. The only thing running through her mind was a long, unladylike string of curses that seemed to break only for the reminder to breathe. Grateful that she had spent the past ten years working out every morning, Val turned onto a strip of fast food joints and headed for the nearest restaurant, Taco Bell. Surely, she could find refuge there. The thought of safety only spurred her exhausted legs faster.

"Hey!"

Great. Now somebody else was on her trail. Val tried to force her legs to piston faster, but she could hear whoever it was. And he or she happened to be faster than she was. Like Jack Smith had been. She could hear work boots slapping the concrete behind her, barely discernable above the roar of passing cars. Head down, Val kept sprinting. She knew her body would just break down any step now, but a sense of adrenaline had seized her by now. She was nearly to the door of Taco Bell.

"Val! C'mon! Stop!"

There was no mistaking that voice, and it was definitely the voice of somebody who would not harm her. Val obediently slowed and came to a full stop, nearly collapsing right then and there. She did not turn to face the man who pursued her now. Instead, she crouched by the street and stared hard at the ground. She could feel his shadow fall across her shoulders as he moved into the late afternoon sunlight. "Glad you finally came to your senses," her pursuer said in what Val distinctly recognized as a British accent. The voice alone without that sexy accent was enough to send shivers across her sweat-soaked skin. Blast him, what on earth possessed him to attain an accent like that? And why did he have to be the one to catch the bad guys all the time? It made thinking difficult.

Finally, Val forced herself to look up. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "And you'd better give me an answer, because I am sick and tired of not getting them." She spoke with more confidence now than she ever had around the man standing over her.

Tyler Connell studied the doctor for a moment before replying, "You got tangled up with an enemy of mine. I had to fix matters." He literally peeled the leather jacket off of his skin and folded that over his arm, offering a hand to Val as he did so.

"Fix _matters_?" Exhaustion had swiftly taken hold upon her aching limbs; she must have been running for miles, it seemed. "You call Jack Smith 'matters?' Who _was_ that man, Tyler?" She accepted the hand up and nearly staggered into Tyler. In her utter exhaustion, the telltale tingle of skin that came every time she had ever brushed hands with Tyler was nearly unnoticeable.

It took another moment for Tyler to answer this question because he was too busy staring at Val, trying to figure out what damage had been done by his personal enemy. He and Val might have fallen out years before, but having her die at the hands of Smith would hurt him more than he could admit. "His full name is Jacques Smittison, Jack Smith for short. He's the most dangerous espionage agent working against the agency that has hired me for the time being. We go way back. I've been longing to punch him for some time, looks like I'll get my chance now. Nigel's trussing him up as we speak. C'mon. The car's nearly two miles back."

"Two _miles_?" No wonder her legs felt like rubber, Val mused tiredly. She must have covered at least three miles. It was amazing that she could still breathe, as it was. One hand traveled up to her eyes to brush sweaty blonde hair away, and Val winced as it came back red. One of the tree branches must have gashed her as she passed. "I don't think I can do that." She was already peeling out of the nice shirt she wore over her regular tank top, trying to cool down.

"You seemed to have no problem getting here. At a full sprint." 

Tyler's normally sandy hair was darker and stuck to his forehead with sweat. Like Val, he was rapidly dropping layers so that he wore only a pair of jeans and a blue cotton shirt with the tag sticking out. It shaped his body nicely, reminding Val of what she couldn't have. "What did you do to your forehead?"

"Gashed it on a tree branch, I think." Three miles suddenly seemed like a horribly long distance to cover. It all seemed so unreal; she was supposed to have been at a medical seminar nearly an hour before. She wondered idly if Marco had indeed burst a vein yet.

A cough brought her back into reality and to the face of her ex-boyfriend. He was walking at her pace, probably as exhausted as she was, and still as smug as he had been before. She certainly did not like the way he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. "You're going to hate me for this, by the way," he told her once he had her attention.

Before Val could say, "Hate you for what?" Tyler had pressed a hand onto her shoulder. She felt a slight twinge of pain, and then nothing more.

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Segment Two: The Fax

"I can't believe that Val hasn't called in two days," Caitie Roth-Waite told her husband as the busy family hurried to finish a breakfast that Tanya had made. It was Tanya's chore to make breakfast on Tuesday mornings. Giving children responsibilities and a voice in decisions at a young age, Caitie said, helped them to develop. "She normally calls just to say hi to at least one of her godchildren. Tanya, did you finish your homework last night?" Tanya, in the middle of finishing her toast, nodded. 

"Maybe she's just busy at work." Jamie reached over to help Jason out with buttering his toast. "You know how work in the hospital gets sometimes. Val's probably conked out on her couch right now. Tanya, you need to hurry if you want me to drive you to school."

"Can we pick Frank up on our way?" Tanya asked, obediently taking larger bites out of her cinnamon-and-sugar toast.

"Frank has to stay at the vet's for another day, Tanya," Caitie said gently. "The vet wanted to keep him overnight, remember?" Frank was their aging German Shepherd, and Tanya was practically his baby, even though they were finally the same size. Tanya certainly took after her mother; she was smaller than most seven-year-olds, though Val had predicted early on in Tanya's life that she would be a little taller than Caitie. "He'll be here when you get back from school." She made a mental note to write that into her planner so that Tanya would have her dog back.

"Will he be all right?" Tanya asked anxiously, not willing to drop the subject. "He'll still be able to play fetch, right?"

Jamie set the newspaper next to him and smiled at their eldest. "Frank," he assured, "will be fine. He doesn't want you to worry about him, either. Remember, you have a math test today, and Frank wants you to do great on it."

"Frank doesn't know math," Jason said scornfully. 

Tanya stuck her tongue out at her little brother for this. "He knows more math than you do," she argued. Jason's eyes grew big at this, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Jamie stopped any further argument by grabbing the five-year-old's toast and pushing it into his mouth. Faced with a mouthful of toast, Jason could say nothing in retort to his sister.

"Tanya, why don't you go upstairs and brush your teeth? Jason, you, too. And don't forget to comb your hair. Wet it down." Jason finished chewing his toast and stood up to follow his older sister.

"Another day at the Waite's," Jamie said, standing and ruffling Jason's hair as he scampered past. The two were a before-and-after image of each other sometimes. Caitie sometimes wondered how both children had managed only to get her nose. Other than that, they were both spitting images of their father. "Are we still on for a dinner tomorrow night?"

"Oh, yes. Penny's taking the kids with her brood over to that new action-adventure park." Caitie hurriedly finished her bagel and moved over to the fax machine. "It was awfully kind of her to do that. I mean, her twins are quite the handful, and we both know Jason's not the most tame of children."

"He must have gotten that from you," Jamie mused as he neatly folded the paper. "We all know that I was quite the angel for all of my life." He batted his eyelashes at his wife and stood up to leave. Pausing at the stairs, he called, "Are you brushing your teeth up there?" The answer was a garbled affirmative. "Good. We're leaving in two minutes!"

Caitie rifled through the faxes they had received the night before as she listened with one ear to the sounds of her family getting ready. Two of the faxes were from Jamie's coworkers in Africa, who hadn't bothered with the time change and had sent them in the middle of the night for the East Coast of the United States. Smiling at the absentmindedness of most medical writers, Caitie set these atop Jamie's briefcase and turned to the last fax. What she found chilled her blood.

"Jamie?" her voice came out shakily. "We'd better call Hank."

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Segment Three: The Headquarters

Awareness came slowly, a thing that started at the very bottom of her mind and grew until she could remember that her name was Dr. Valerie Lanier, that she was twenty-seven years old, and that she was not very comfortable. This last realization arose just as slowly as her awareness did, as a constant and steady ache between her shoulders and in the small of her back that stayed persistently until she groaned and tried to roll onto her side. The groan grew louder as bright red sirens of pain exploded behind her eyelids. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the sirens faded into mere whispers of sound and Val opened her eyes.

Where she was, she couldn't precisely guess. She was on some sort of standardized cot, a nondescript gray duvet covering her and a nondescript white pillow beneath her head. The whole room could be described as nondescript, actually. The walls were gray and smooth, as static as walls could come. There was a soft gray carpet on the floor, and no window. The only furniture in the room, besides the cot she was on, was a table with brass legs and a glass top. Atop the table was a vase with a single blue flower in it. The room had to be the most boring, standardized room she had ever seen.

Her head still felt awful as she moved into a siting position, leaning forward in hopes to ease the constant ache. How had she gotten here? The last thing she could remember was leaving Caitie's house to attend a seminar in…oh. Now she remembered how she had arrived in this strange room. A taller, more handsome model of Tyler Connell, with that endearing accent to boot, had managed to stroll back into her life. Only, he was merely there to 'fix matters.' And 'matters' had to do with the extremely complex problem of the man who had appeared in the backseat of her car. Val shuddered inwardly as she remembered the hungry look that had been in Jack Smith's eyes. If she hadn't escaped from him when she did, her dignity would have been as good as gone.

Before Val's thoughts could hurtle too far down the wrong track, the door off to the left opened and a man in a black suit entered. The fact that he wore an earpiece and that his hair was chopped military style gave him the look of a stereotypical government agent. Val blinked at him for a long moment before he said, "It is good to see that you are awake. I am Agent Neuro. If you will follow me, I will take you to your quarters, where you can have dinner and refresh yourself."

"My…quarters?" Val asked, pushing the duvet off and standing up. She was still in the clothes she had intended to wear at her seminar, she noticed, so the possibility of having been an amnesiac was gone. "Agent…whatever you name is—"

"Neuro, ma'am."

"Okay, Agent Neuro, whatever. How long was I unconscious?" Pain roared between her ears as she padded, barefoot, after the agent.

"Forty-one hours, ma'am." The corridor that Agent Neuro led her down was just like the room—boring, gray, and interrupted only by a table once in awhile with a flower atop. "In case you are wondering where you are, you are at the Connell Manor in Maryland." If Val jumped at the name of the manor, he did not appear to notice. They turned a corner and passed through a large, white waiting room. Beige couches were placed strategically around low tables that were smothered in magazines. Along one wall, there was a large-screen TV, couches surrounding it. "The recreational room. Most people just call it the rec room. We come in here when we are off-duty," Neuro explained as they passed through. "Everybody is either gone, or in meetings right now. Right this way, please."

"What is this place?" Val asked, stretching her strides to keep up with Neuro's quick pace.

"The headquarters." Neuro shrugged and seemed willing to offer no more. "Come, your quarters are right down this hallway." A slight change from the boring gray, Val noticed as they headed down a corridor decked in blue. There were numbers on the doors of this corridor, also. Perhaps these headquarters were a hotel of some sort. Her head hurt too much to figure that out, however. "Room 241. You will find clothing suitable to be worn at headquarters. Mr. Connell himself requested that you be at an information meeting in precisely an hour and forty two minutes. One of the agents will be here to escort you." With that, Neuro turned on his polished heel and marched off, leaving Val alone in the corridor.

"Um, okay, then." Word, her head ached like nobody's business. Timidly, she pushed the door open and looked into her room. It was not, as she had been afraid of, as boring as the previous room had been. The walls were cream-colored, with a small blue border running along the top. There was a double bed in the middle of the room, a blue duvet covering that. On one side of her was the door to the bathroom (painted a lime-green, of all things); on the other was a closet-space with several outfits in it already. Most of them were formal, but a few were kickback clothing.

On the bedside table, she was relieved to find a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol. Somebody had penned a note saying, "Thought you might need these. Will explain later." Val frowned at the note as she swallowed the required dosage of tablets.

There was nothing she could do until whoever sent the note arrived, and Val was not one to panic in the meantime, so she took a shower and changed into some of the nicer clothing. While she dried her hair, she examined the cut twisting near her right temple and winced. It was healing, definitely, but it certainly looked bad. How had she cut herself that badly and not noticed it?

As she was pondering this, she heard somebody knock on the door and moved over to answer it. At least, she tried to. The cord to the hairdryer had other ideas in mind. Val tried to untangle herself before giving up with a groan. "Just come in!" she shouted. "It should be unlocked." 

She made one of her classic noises and finally managed to convince the cord that it didn't like her as much as it thought it did. Unfortunately enough for her, disentangling herself from the hairdryer had ended up with her landing quite squarely on her butt. By that time, her visitor was standing in the bathroom doorway and trying not to laugh at her. Now she looked up and gasped. "Tyler!"

"The one and only." He laughed at her now, leaning casually against the doorframe as he did so. Val noticed that he was wearing a suit similar to Agent Neuro's, but his hair was not chopped off in a military style. "So are you just getting so acquainted with your quarters that you wanted a better view of the floor, or what?"

Val held up the offending object, cord and all. "Hairdryer."

"Oh…that's a new technique to drying your hair. Does it actually work?" Once again, Tyler reached down to help her up. "I must say, is that an abstract approach, or what?"

"Very funny." Val set the offensive hairdryer on the counter and squeezed past Tyler. "Sit down," she told him, gesturing to the recliner in the corner. "You, my friend, have a lot of explaining to do. Like, precisely, where have you been in the past ten years, why I woke up in what I believe to be a psych ward, and where you picked that aggravating accent."

Even though she hadn't seen him in what seemed like forever, she still noticed that his hands tightened as he sat in the recliner. "So we're friends now?" he asked in a tight voice. "Last time I saw you, I could have sworn that you hated me for eternity."

Val's jaw clenched stubbornly. "I was eighteen, Tyler, that's not fair and you know it."

"Oh, so kicking me out onto a street in the middle of a rainstorm was fair?"

"You walked out—!"

She didn't get very far into her sentence, however, because the opening of the door cut her off. Agent Neuro strode in and blinked at the two of them. "Do you always barge into women's rooms unannounced, Edward?" Tyler asked, a cool expression quickly replacing the one of anger that had been rampant across his features. "I thought my grandfather taught you better manners than that." Neuro only blinked owlishly at him. "Well?"

"Oh." Neuro had difficulty collecting himself; he seemed completely shocked by the fact that Tyler was in Val's quarters. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt anything?"

The tension that had built up in the room drained as Val flopped backwards onto the bed. Tyler's expression grew stormy as he regarded Neuro. "If you must know," and his voice was acid now, "you interrupted the beginning of a fight that would probably have ended with one of us, probably me since these are Val's quarters, stomping out in anger. If you would be so kind to excuse us…"

Neuro finally seemed to catch the point. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean anything—really—Mr. Connell just sent me to tell Ms. Lanier about the briefing in twenty minutes."

"I will escort _Dr._ Lanier there myself." Tyler's look was steely as Neuro quickly turned and let himself out. "Where were we?"

Val gave a sigh reminiscent of her med-school days. "Never mind." She sat up and automatically straightened her hair. There were a million other things she wanted to do right now besides fight with Tyler. One of them was to figure out where she was, at least. "Let's forget our past for a moment while you tell me where I am exactly, who this Jack Smith guy was, and what he wanted with me. And don't say that you'll tell me later, because I will not accept that answer."

"You haven't changed a bit," Tyler scowled. "Still business-like, to the point, dependable Valerie Lanier." He rubbed both hands through his hair and leaned back. "Where should I start?"

"Try the beginning."

Tyler's watch beeped. "Unfortunately," he said, standing, "there just isn't time. The meeting starts in eighteen minutes and my grandfather wants us to be there early. We need to be civil to each other at the meeting, so I declare a truce until we can fight again." 

Val laughed bitterly as she stood up. "You declare a truce?" she demanded, still laughing. "Well, I don't agree to a truce. I'll fight with you whenever I please." Tyler opened his mouth, but Val was just getting started. She was tired, she was confused, and her head ached like one wouldn't believe. "And don't give me that, 'This is my life and my agency' excuse. You walked out of my life nine years ago, you can't run it now."

"Nobody wants to run your life," Tyler said, although his voice was growing edgier at her words. His look was clearly one of annoyance.

This earned him another bitter laugh. "Then why don't I know where I am? Why was there an agent sitting in the backseat of my car, asking about you? Why was I nearly raped and killed? It seems somebody's trying to run my life."

"For the last time, _nobody_ but you can run your life." Tyler was definitely losing patience now; he glared at his ex-girlfriend as they exited Val's quarters and headed the opposite direction down the corridor. "You're just being detained at headquarters until we are positive that is absolutely safe for you to be returned to your normal lifestyle. Trust me, if I could get rid of you earlier, I would, but I can't. I don't have that power."

"Well, _get_ that power." Val was still fighting the very fringes of a headache, so she was bound to be cranky. "And these are the headquarters to _what_? All I have heard is 'the agency' and 'the headquarters.' Nobody has bothered to tell me anything."

As they headed into the rec room, Tyler saw for the first time how awful Val must feel. The tranquilizer dose he had given her two days was normally used on the criminals, so it was in no way gentle. He knew for a fact she still probably had a bit of a headache. With confusion and fear added into that equation, Val's mental state was probably not very stable right now. He really didn't need to be goading her on like he was, but she just made him so angry at times. She had just picked up with her life and left him behind, no questions asked, no answers given. And now she was sitting there, calling him a friend. The nerve of the woman…

_Stop it, Connell_, his mind barked at him.

"Welcome to NEESPA," he told Val now, his voice thick with annoyance. Val bit her lip, but said nothing, her eyes narrowing. "That is, the New England Espionage and Protection Services Agency. It's like the Secret Services, only much, much different." As he spoke, he led her into another corridor, this one coated in pale shades of green. "And as for that truce, would _you_ like to declare a truce? At least until the end of this meeting, please."

"Whatever." Val folded her arms and gave her best, "I am not happy about this," look, but she complied anyway. "So, you're a spy?"

"Correction: I'm a bounty hunter." When Val gave him a skeptical look, he threw up his hands and said, "Honestly, I am. I'm not lying." Val seemed to freeze at these words, but she said nothing. "I don't actually work for NEESPA, they just hire me from time to time. I spend most of my days working for independent clients in the Midwest and the West Coast." They reached a set of glass doors and entered a muted gray hallway. "We just left the living area."

"Oh?" Val was trying to map the building in her head. "I haven't seen a window yet." She frowned at this; being a cheerful person by nature, Val liked a lot of sunlight. Her apartment was perfect for her, with all of its windows and bright colors. NEESPA Headquarters was depressingly grim.

"That's because we're underground at the moment." Tyler stopped at an elevator and pressed the button to go up. While they were waiting, he decided to explain. "We're actually at my grandfather's mansion in Maryland right now. My Grandfather Connell, I mean. The headquarters are run underground from his mansion."

"How'd we get to Maryland? Last time, I checked, I was headed out of Virginia and going to a seminar."

The elevator doors opened with a beep and two agents in suits stepped out, leaving the elevator empty for them. Tyler pressed the button to the third floor as Val leaned against the wall. She had just woken up, but she was exhausted.

"The last time you checked was two days ago. We were just going to ship you back home, but Smith escaped twelve hours ago, labeling you as endangered persona." Tyler gave a half-shrug. "Until he is caught again, which could take a very long time, you are stuck here or with a bodyguard. Right now, with Smith so angry at you for escaping him, it is more logical for you to stay _here_, where he can't get to you."

Val's voice was level, but her hands shook as she looked hard at Tyler. "That man is _loose_?" she demanded. "And nobody's going after him?" 

"We have some of our top agents tracking Smith." The elevator beeped again as they reached the third floor and stepped out into what looked like a den. "That's the problem, though. Smith used to _be_ the top agent. I was on his case for awhile, since we used to work together, but Grandfather wanted me to come permanently to NEESPA to do that. And I couldn't do that. The meeting room is right this way."

Val said nothing more as she followed him through the fancy den and out onto a patio. "You are all wearing suits, and meeting outside in this heat?" she demanded as Tyler started to descend the stairs along the edge of the patio. The Connell Estate was set in a series of rolling, gentle hills. There was a golf course set off to the back, Val noticed, and several trees and hedges lining the estate. Whoever Tyler's grandfather was, he was subtle in warding visitors off. She bit her lip as a golf cart, suit-clad driver included, drove up. "Hop in," Tyler said, trading places with the driver. Val gingerly stepped into the golf cart. "Play much golf?"

"Sorry, I'm still convinced that golf is just men wanting to get out the primitive feeling of wanting to beat something," Val said primly. Tyler, who had just started up the golf cart, snorted. "Why? Are we going to play golf now? I thought we had a meeting to attend."

"We do." And the grin Val remembered was back. "But you never know until you golf, do you?"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Val demanded as the golf cart drove off.

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Segment Four: The Conversation

A smart knock at the door of his office drew Hank from his concentration on a series of medical charts before him. Blinking in the half-light (he really needed to get the janitorial staff to come in and fix that light), Hank 

looked up and called, "Come in—it's unlocked!" He then pretended to return to writing his notes in. Visitors seemed to bother him less when he appeared to be busy.

James Waite stuck his head in. "You busy, Hank?" he asked, swiveling his head around to look at his old coworker. Even though they had come from different social realms in high school, time had turned them into good friends. This was mostly because Jamie and Hank had gone to the same university and had been given ample opportunity to become good friends. Hank had stood as best man at Jamie's wedding, and Jamie at Hank's. It seemed as though if one's career was in trouble, the other was there.

"Oh, no, come on in. Just going over some paperwork." Hank stood to put the paperwork away as Jamie moved to his familiar seat in the visitor's chair. "What brings you here? I thought you just got back from Zimbabwe. And how was that?" 

"Zimbabwe was great. Of course, for a couple of days, I was bright red; Tanya's little misnomer for me was 'Smurfie.' Honestly, the child's colorblind." Jamie rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but the moment did not last long. As Hank passed him a cup of coffee, Jamie's look darkened. "I'm the Harbringer of bad news, unfortunately."

"As long as it's not death," Hank quipped lightly, but his eyes were solemn. "Are the kids both okay? Caitie doing all right? She's not pregnant again, is she?" Caitie had nearly gone into severe depression after her miscarriage two years previous; it had been a rough time for all of them, and Val had nearly moved back in with the Waites to help out. Still, the group had managed to pull out.

"No, no, everybody's fine. Caitie _thinks_ she's pregnant, but that's a thing we'll deal with some other time. It's Val."

At this, Hank straightened subconsciously and gave his best friend a wide-eyed look. "Is she all right? She didn't hurt herself, did she?" Val was an integral part of their group, almost the lifeblood that had held them together so many times. Who knew how many times a simple word or two from Val to the headstrong Waites had saved their marriage? And only the one above knew how often Val had been there for Hank when his attractive wife Charlee had nearly succumbed to cancer.

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck and leaned his head back. "For all I know, she's fine." Not moving from his agitated position, he slid a folded piece of paper over to Hank. "This was faxed to us sometime during the night. Caitie felt I should call you, but I thought the news should be delivered in person. Voila, here I am." He shifted slightly as Hank opened the paper with nervous fingers and scanned the contents. He had to clutch the desk as he reread the paper again to make sure he was right. "Shocking, isn't it?"

"This…this is some kind of a joke, right?" Hank blinked and read the paper a third time. No, the handwriting was definitely Val's, made horrible after a number of years in med-school. He remembered how her handwriting had been in high school, a step up from her math grades. Somebody would have to be very good at forgery to pull this off. "This doesn't sound like her. If Val were to up and move to California, she would have sent more than a fax. And this bull about not having time to call…a call takes less than thirty minutes, if you talk fast." Hank poised his chin onto his fingers in his classic thinking look.

"There's no mistaking the handwriting," Jamie argued glumly, resting his head between his thumb and his forefinger. "Nobody else could have handwriting that horrible. Even Caitie agrees."

"This doesn't make any _sense_. This isn't like her at all. She's twenty-seven, well-grounded in a nicely-paying career, with multitudes of friends…" Hank slapped the paper with the back of his hand. "Why would she pull a stunt like this? 'Sorry, Caitie, but I have to go out to California for a few weeks. Who knows how long I'll be gone? I may just stay out there permanently. I'll call when I get a chance. Catch you later, Val.'" Hank's voice was bitter as he read the short fax aloud.

"Maybe it's a boyfriend or something?" But Jamie knew this was futile; he had heard about the episode between Val and Jeremy.

"Val's single now, didn't you hear?" None of the pieces of this sudden puzzle seemed to fit together as Hank fought the urge to ball the paper up and take it home for Doris, his pet cat, to mutilate. His mind couldn't seem to get past the fact that this was really all one big, horrible prank.

There was no possible way that Val could be gone. She had been there for every single member of their posse, and had juggled her own life and blooming career while doing so. Back when Tanya was born, and Caitie and Jamie had been completely caught up in school, Val had moved in with them to provide a hand in caring for the newborn. Jamie and Caitie had made the decision to marry early because they had been so afraid of being torn apart, and Val had been there for both of them in the hair-pulling stage of marriage. And even though she'd had relationship troubles and loneliness to deal with, Val had been there since the first day Charlee found out about her cancer until they announced that the cancer had gone into remission. The two still power-walked together every Tuesday and Friday.

Not only had she been there as a friend, but Val had been the pediatric expert he had turned to time and again if something was not quite correct in his research. Before Charlee had come along, Val had always attended the hospital's gala balls and other formal events so that Hank wouldn't have to go alone. 

"I think it's a conspiracy. Guess it's the bleacher junkie in me coming through," Jamie interrupted Hank's thought processes. "No way would Val drop everything and run—even if she did just break up from the longest relationship she's had in nine years."

Hank stared at the paper for a long time before looking up at Jamie. "Conspiracy, eh?" he asked, his voice cracking as he tried to digest the shock of his friend's particular move. "We're smart people—we could figure out a conspiracy, couldn't we? I bet that Val's really just playing a prank on us. Let's track her down and turn the tables on her."

Jamie attained the old "Bleacher Junkie" gleam in his eye as he said his next words. "Val doesn't seem like a California girl, anyway. She's more of the Florida type." He paused, and the mood grew more severe. "What if she really did go to California?"

"She didn't," Hank said with conviction. "She would have at least promised to send us a postcard." 


	3. Golf and Sarcasm, BarHopping Madness, Th...

A/N: Wow! This chapter took _forever_!!! I'm sorry to those people who were waiting on the edges of their seats! Hope you didn't fall off from waiting! Everything's been so busy. No idea when the next chapter will be out.

Disclaimer: Everything you don't recognize is probably mine, but I own nothing, just to be safe. No profit is being made off of this fanfic—I'm too poor to make money.

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Segment One: Golf and Sarcasm

Val watched dubiously as Tyler pulled a golf tee out of his pocket and looked hard at it before pushing it very carefully into the ground. "It takes skill, you see," he told Val, pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket. With finite precision, he slipped the gloves on and studied the course ahead of him. He then took the golf club he had kept tucked underneath his arm out and leveled it in front of him. "You have to look professional, which I'm sure even you could pull off." His voice, Val noticed, had not lost the overwhelming sense of distaste it had kept since the rec room. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Erm, sure." Val rubbed at her eyes and winced as her fingers touched the sensitive cut twisting near her temple. Only moments earlier, after a bouncy ride on a golf cart with an unstable driver, she had sworn to drive Tyler mad by annoying him. Time for the plan to kick into play, she decided, straightening. "Although I'm _still _not sure why you're golfing when we have to be at a meeting," she checked her watch to verify, "in eight minutes."

"Well, Dr. Lanier," and Tyler readied the golf club, looking over the beautiful horizon of the Connell Estate, "you don't know everything, do you?" She could tell from the tense set of his shoulders that her plan was going to work quite well.

Val rolled her eyes and gave one of her groan and sigh combinations as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the golf-cart, one dubious eye on Tyler. "Um, doofus," she said after a moment. "Forgetting something?" When Tyler looked at her blankly, she held up a chipped golf ball. "You might need one of these or something that at least _rolls_."

Tyler caught the ball as she tossed it to him and carefully placed it on the tee. "Was your voice this annoying during high school, too? I never really noticed."

"No—you were too busy stabbing oranges." At least the people at NEEPSA had left her the sunglasses that she had been wearing when Jack Smith appeared in her back seat. Val pulled these on now and gave Tyler her best smirk. Petite from working out everyday and still the natural blonde, she had the grace and finesse of a regular movie star. A stranger's observation would not classify her as a pediatrician. "Can we get on with this foolish little bit of manliness?" she demanded through a sigh, although she was inwardly bristling at Tyler's comment. He had no right to be hostile, after all. Nine years had passed, couldn't he just forget everything? 

Couldn't she? 

Tyler spared any more arguing by taking a swing at the ball—and missing. He cursed violently, looking at the untouched ball as though the fault belonged to it.

"Language, Mr. Connell," Val reprimanded gleefully.

"Annoyance, Dr. Lanier," Tyler snapped back, preparing to swing again. This time he hit the ball, knocking it far into the rough. Before Val could comment on this, Tyler had climbed back onto the golf cart and was gesturing for her to climb in. "Good, I passed clearance," he said, checking his watch (which was beeping red). "Look ahead."

Straight-ahead, about twenty-five feet off, Val could see the hill_ moving_. It was like somebody underneath had taken a giant fist and punched the hill up. After a few seconds, she could see the shape of a very large door opening _in the side of the hill_. "What is that?" she demanded, momentarily forgetting her promise to annoy Tyler, as her mouth dropped open.

"Camouflage," was Tyler's curt reply. "We cut the tunnel into the side of this hill years ago, but the golf-tee switch is new." The door had indeed opened up to form a tunnel just large enough for a golf-cart. It formed a dark mouth, looming ominous in Val's sun-glassed eyes. She lifted the sunglasses away to stare at the tunnel. "There are probably a hundred balls out there in the rough," he added absently, nodding at the patch of grasses that rose up to Val's knees.

Tyler halted the golf cart just outside the tunnel and hopped out. "Come on," he told Val. "An agent will be here to pick the golf cart up in a minute. Right now, we need to move."

"Spend too much time golfing?" Val snipped. "If we hadn't spent so much time golfing, we wouldn't be late." But she was hurrying into the tunnel, nearly on Tyler's heels. The tunnel wasn't much—a simple black affair with a glossy floor the same texture and color of the ceiling. Val matched Tyler step-for-step, wondering where they could possibly be headed. She nearly gasped when the tunnel exploded into some sort of auditorium, completely wit a stage and hundreds of rows of chairs. Tyler steered her past some sort of control station. Looking in, she could see several agents sitting behind desks, concentrating on control panels of sorts. Most wore headsets and constantly referred to a wall full of switches and monitors behind them.

"Thanks for opening the door, Mick!" Tyler called out to a suit-clad agent sitting behind the desk in the control station. "Mick" tossed him a cheery salute, positively grinning at Val.

Val, meanwhile, rounded on Tyler. " I thought you said that the switch was activated by a golf tee!" she snapped. A passing agent snickered into his hand, only increasing the intensity of Val's glare at Tyler. Tyler, for his part, did not squirm at all. "I don't find this funny, Mr. Connell. As I'm sure you are aware of, these surroundings are completely new and foreign to me, and having you constantly playing jokes is _not_ helping."

Instead of quailing under her furious stare, as most men would have done, Tyler managed a cheeky grin and said, "Glad to be of service." With that, he sped up, so Val's annoyed "ARGH!" was completely behind him.

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Segment Two: Bar-Hopping Madness

Friday night. Out of all nights, why had he picked Friday night?

Jamie pushed the glass in front of him left and right, wishing that he had remembered his common sense when he had run back to get his car keys out of his apartment. Shiny's Pub, a bar notorious for its live band (who seemed to get worse and worse every time Jamie set foot into this place), was usually a respectable bar. A man could come in and have a quiet beer midweek, or drown his sorrows in a bottle or two. This was what Jamie usually did, unless he was entertaining a bunch of old college pals—which definitely wasn't the case tonight. He had forgotten that the dance floor, usually empty except for the wayward couple or the gawky teenagers, was always packed on Saturday nights. Waitresses bustled about, showing more skin than clothing, and generally adding to the chaos. This place was comparable to the cliché can of sardines, and it made Jamie edgy.

"Hey, mister, you gonna drink that?" a rather disheveled man on Jamie's right demanded, pointing at the drink as though Jamie could possibly ponder drinking something else.

Jamie felt his ire rising; he really hated crowded places. "No," he snapped off, feeling quite irate. "I spent my good money to stare at it and wonder why I even bother breathing anymore." Intent on signaling the end of the conversation, he turned away from the man, so that he was angled left. As this gave him a rather up-close and personal view of a young couple very much in love, this option was no more desirable than the first. Grumbling, he faced forward and returned to playing with his drink.

"'S'what most of us do anyway," the man on his right mumbled, and downed his own glass. Jamie did not allowed the disgusted sneer he had worn so often as a younger man cross his features. He had an appointment to keep, and even if he had to hang out in a stifling bar to keep it, he would keep a pleasant face.

"Blast it, Hank, what's taking you so long?" he muttered, resisting the urge to swing around and look for his friend. Hank was over by the pool tables, using the game as a ruse to talk to Jeremy Price-Riston, Val's ex-boyfriend. Jamie had spotted the two earlier, deep in conversation, and hoped that Hank would speed it up a bit. He _did_ have a life at home, after all.

Behind him on a rickety stage, the band kicked into another tune, faster, louder, and less composed than any of the equally annoying tunes they had cranked out before. As Jamie picked up his drink, tilting it left and right to see the light reflected through the whiskey, his scowl deepened. He was quite sure that the band was just decaying as the night grew on, but voiced his suspicions to nobody.

"Are you _really_ going to drink that?" the man on his right demanded, poking his elbow.

Jamie glared at him through the side of his eye and raised his glass to his lips, taking a defiant sip. "There. I drank it. Now spare us all some sanity; shut your mouth, and return to your drink!"

Instead of looking angry at Jamie's harsh words, the man _giggled_. Jamie eyed him a bit, unsure how intoxicated this man was. Finally, he gave up on the human race and faced forward again. He was just starting to contemplate death by shot glass when a hand poked his shoulder and Hank's voice muttered, "We've got to get out of here. I have news." Jamie nodded slightly as Hank continued past; the two couldn't be seen together. Jeremy had known Hank, but he had not liked Jamie very much.

"Keep the change!" Jamie shouted to the bartender as he slapped a few dollars onto the clean-scrubbed surface. Leaving his drink almost untouched, he sauntered away. The man at his right snatched up Jamie's glass and downed it in one gulp, smiling greedily. Jamie smiled as he pushed through the crowd into the warm July air.

Instead of looking around for Hank, however, he turned right and headed down Keller Lane, where most of Kingsport's industrial plants were located. Greystone was the dominant factory, surrounded by a rusted heap of chain-link fence. In the daytime, it was a faded, stone building, content to blend in with any gray sky. The fields surrounding were dead and yellowed, but Jamie could not tell in the semi-darkness. On a cloudy night, with only a few pools of golden streetlight tossed in, Greystone appeared to be an impregnable silhouette against an even darker sky. Jamie hurried alongside the fence, kicking beer bottles and the like out of the way as he moved. He started counting his steps off in his head; when he reached 116 steps, he made a sharp turn into an alley cutting between Greystone and the factory next door.

Hank was squatting there, poking designs into the dirt with his index finger, but he stood as Jamie approached. "Well, I've found some news that may shine a light on our case," he said without any form of greeting. "But before I begin, whatever did she see in that fellow?" He crossed his arms over his T-shirt, looking exactly like any other John Doe to grace Shiny's Pub. Both he and Jamie had picked perfectly inconspicuous clothing: dark T-shirts, workingman jeans, construction worker boots. Jamie wore a watch he had picked up at Wal-Mart, and had spiked his hair once again as he always had in high school.

Jamie shrugged at Hank's question. "Caitie called it some kind of psychological disorder. Real creep, isn't he?" Hank nodded emphatically, scowling as Jamie grinned at him. "Why do you think I asked _you_ to be the one to talk to Jeremy?"

This only served to make Hank look grumpy. "You've probably had more than your share of that guy," he observed, despite his crankiness. "I guess it's only fair that I talked to him." Either way, he did not look happy about giving up an hour of his life talking to Val's creepy ex-boyfriend. "Well, the news is that Jeremy's got no idea where Val is."

His words provoked a groan. "And?" Jamie prompted.

"She's recently written a paper—she sent me the outline—and Jeremy mentioned something about her attending a conference somewhere about it. Now, he didn't say much about it, but I've reason to believe that she did not have to go to this conference in California." At this, Jamie nodded, chewing his lip. "She would have at least given a little more word to us about a conference in California. She would have at least told Caitie…or one of her colleagues. Heck, _I _would have known if she were attending a conference in California."

"So we've ruled out that she's not in California about work, then?" Jamie mused, leaning against the fence and threading his fingers through the chain links.

Hank shook his head, pulling a baseball cap without any sort of team name out of his pocket. He jammed that on over his head. "I don't think she's in California at all. I called her work earlier and they say she's taking a well-deserved hiatus. But there was nothing in her apartment to say that she was going to California—she still had milk in her 'fridge, for crying out loud! And she hadn't hired a cat-sitter for Smoke." Smoke, Val's grey tabby cat, was now staying at Calimbre under the care of Jamie's daughter. It really was good luck that Smoke and Frank, Jamie's aging German Shepherd, got along well.

Jamie glanced over his shoulder, but the Greystone factory had not changed. He narrowed his eyes, looking over the landscape. "So," he concluded, turning slowly back to Hank, "chances are she's somewhere around, waiting to come home tomorrow and get a big laugh, or that she was…"

"Kidnapped," Hank finished grimly.

__

Segment Three: The Meeting

"You told her that a _golf tee_ activated a secret switch that would open the door to let you two into the main headquarters?" Wesley J. Monefil, or Agent Money as he was more popularly known among the normal NEEPSA agents and those affiliated with NEEPSA, attached or otherwise, leaned his chair back on two legs and gave his coworker a look somewhat between amused and dubious. "How gullible is this woman, anyway?"

Tyler Connell, or Agent Connell (Connie to those who had consumed enough alcohol to be daring), smiled in his particular way, shaking his head. Even though ten years from high school had added muscle and had squared his features off somewhat, he had not managed to lose the slow and sheepish grin that now made women swoon. "She's not very gullible at all," he admitted, his grin coming on full force, "which only serves to make victory sweeter."

"…Make victory sweeter…" Money rubbed his chin as he mouthed Tyler's last words to himself. "Tyler, this woman we're protecting, this doctor or whoever she is, is she of any relation to you at all? Friend, relative, perhaps?" Wesley J. Monefil was built along the lines of the other agents around the table: muscular from years of being in top shape in his term at NEEPSA, neither too tall nor too short, with absolutely nothing striking about his form. He was dressed exactly like the other agents—a general black suit, a black tie, and a white button-up shirt. Money had the amazing ability to look like everybody's friend's brother. His hair was brown, his eyes were brown, and there was absolutely nothing odd or out of place about his even features. He was not handsome, but he was not ugly.

"Ex-girlfriend, maybe," Edward "Neuro" Neero said as he sat down on Tyler's other side. "I happened to walk in on their conversation earlier." 

"For which I still have to thank you," Tyler said icily. He received on the typical grin from Neuro, and drummed his fingers on the glossy surface of the table. Fourteen agents (and Val) had been chosen to attend this meeting, and not one had any clue exactly what Mr. Perkins would be speaking about.

Tyler could see Val out of the corner of his eye, sitting rigidly about five seats down. Just by the defiant set of her eyebrows, and the fact that her lips were drawn into a thin, white line, Tyler could tell that she was still annoyed by his earlier stunts. Of course, he mused as he leaned back and looked about lazily, she had a perfect right to be. One couldn't ask for one's fate, and Val certainly wasn't going to like the one doled out to her until Jack Smith was caught. At least he wouldn't be the agent dealing with her—they would put somebody more personable, like Neuro or even Agent Harolt, on protecting her. The fact that he wasn't going to have to deal with Val only made things more pleasant on Tyler's part. He could almost forget the past this way.

"So Tyler's ex-girlfriend strolls into the picture," Money observed in amusement. "No wonder you're spiting her like you are. She get to keep the kids and the dog, or something?"

"Kids? Money, we were in high school. That's ten years now, buddy." Tyler stabbed an index finger at Money and turned his attention to the front of the room, where Perkins was clearing his throat. Perkins was a man in his late fifth decade, with a bald spot and a very quick temper. He was dressed in a grey suit, not unlike the suits his agents wore, but his tie was also grey. Tyler found himself squirming under the eyes that had given Perkins his famous appellation: Hawk-Eye Perkins. 

"I'm glad to see we're all here, then," Perkins began. "I have called fourteen of the top NEEPSA agents and affiliates today, because there is a problem. We have captured Jack Smith."

Faces turned stony despite the good news, Tyler noticed. Jack Smith had that effect.

"And he has now killed three of our top agents to escape. We will all mourn the deaths of Peter Yalesdon, Jaime Figgs, and William Frederick Olsen. And Connell, if you aren't going to go to their funerals, at least send flowers." Perkins's face held no mirth as the room slowly turned to look at Tyler. He gave no reaction, used to being singled out whenever he came to work alongside NEEPSA. Tyler was normally a freelance bounty hunter/mercenary, but NEEPSA hired him from time to time because he had ties to the founder. Tyler's own father was an agent to CEPSA, which was the California branch of NEEPSA. His grandfather was the founding member of NEEPSA.

"Jacques Smittison, Jack Smith—top security threat," Mr. Perkins continued, tearing his gaze away from Tyler and starting to pace like an interrogator. "Not many agents have gone up against him and survived." Once again, Mr. Perkins looked hard at Tyler. "Agent Connell here is one of the few who have lived to tell the tale, as they say. We have hired Connell to help track down and draw Smittison out of hiding."

"Sir?" Agent Money interrupted, raising his hand from where he was taking notes on the briefing. "Does this mean that Smith is…"

Mr. Perkins swiveled to give the table a very grave look. "Yes, Money. This means that Smittison is on kill-command. You see this guy, you shoot him. Don't capture him—just clear him out. This case has gone on long enough. It's starting to get embarrassing."

"Right, sir," Money replied, and scratched something down on his notepad. "Who was responsible for the original capture of Smith?"

"Classified!" Perkins barked, turning on his heel. He resumed pacing, shooting annoyed looks at each of the agents and Val. "All you need to know is that he was apprehended approximately forty-two hours ago, and _if_ he is apprehended again, he will be charged with the murders of over sixteen agents, several civilians, and the attempted murder of Dr. Valerie Lanier." Even those who knew Jack Smith's charges blinked. Val, who had had no previous knowledge of what she had been up against in her '98 Saturn, let out a small gasp and received several looks.

"Dr. Lanier is, along with Agent Connell, perhaps one of Smittison's top targets. That is why she is here today—and I hope you understand, Dr. Lanier, that everything occurring in this meeting is absolutely classified. Disclosing information to a source not present at this meeting is grounds for imprisonment." Val, jaw set, nodded to show that she understood. "Thank you. I am placing you in the charge of Agent Connell, seeing as he is the only target who has managed to evade Smittison for so long."

Tyler opened his mouth to protest, but Agent Neuro beat him to it. "Sir, isn't that dangerous?" he demanded. Seeming to remember whom exactly he was speaking to, he snapped, "Permission to speak freely."

"Granted," Perkins snapped, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Connell is not a full-time NEEPSA Agent, sir, so wouldn't it be dangerous to put the doctor in his custody? Put frankly, sir, we have nothing to hold over Connell's head to ensure that he fulfills this job. There's a past between Dr. Lanier and Connell—what's to say he doesn't run out on her first thing and leave her at Smith's mercy?" Both Val and Tyler were now glaring daggers at Neuro (for different reasons), and many of the agents present seemed to share their sentiments.

"I doubt that Agent Connell would do that, sir," Money piped in, sending a sideways glare at Neuro. "He's been with the Agency time and again—he's practically one of us, minus the contract."

"And what are we without the contract? Civilians," Neuro pointed out, turning to give Money the full force of his glare. Normally Edward Neero was a friendly fellow, but he and Tyler had never really gotten off on the best foot. He felt he had reason to mistrust Tyler, and Tyler just did not like Neuro.

Before anybody else could join in the argument, especially the shell-shocked Val or Tyler, Perkins frowned at his agents. "While I agree with you, Money, Neuro does have a point. The Agency can't just go making blind leaps of faith—it's bad for policy." His frown deepened. "Agent Connell, I'm going to have to ask that you be contracted indefinitely."

Tyler's eyes were stormy as he opened his mouth to tell Perkins exactly where he could stuff that idea, but Val did not seem content to be talked about as though she were not there. "Excuse me?" she asked feebly, raising her hand. "I'm not sure I understand what's going on here. Pardon my ignorance, but nobody has custody of me. I'm not a minor. And I have not signed anything—I am not your property. I expect to be returned to my car, do you hear me?" Although she was not excessively tall or particularly imposing, Val had picked up the talent to be as formidable as she wished to be. It had probably come from dealing with years of stubborn patients, and it was a talent well learned. Indeed, Tyler was thoroughly surprised that Perkins did not flinch under her glare.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Lanier, but due to the fact that you were unconscious when the statements were to be signed, your next of kin consented to have you placed in our care until we feel the threat is removed for good." Was it a trick in the light, or did Perkins give Val a compassionate look? Tyler shook his head in confusion.

"My next of kin?" Val asked shakily.

"Your sister, Brooke Lanier has agreed to place you within the protective services of Tyler Connell," Perkins explained, finally sitting down at the table. "Miss Lanier is in no danger—she herself is under the protective services of Agent Wormwood. Her wedding is to go on as planned."

"And what about friends and colleagues?" Val pressed on, still pale but determined to figure out how to see this through. "Have they been informed of my whereabouts?"

"Dr. James Waite and Dr. Caitlin Roth-Waite, as well as Dr. Beecham and Mrs. Beecham, have all been informed that you are in California on a 'well-deserved' hiatus. NEEPSA has arranged with your place of occupation for a leave of absence. You will still be paid your normal salary—you will just be in hiding from Smittison with Agent Connell. Connell, see me after the meeting to arrange your paperwork."

"Yes, sir," Tyler snapped, looking less than thrilled about this.

"In other business, I am placing Agent Money in charge of a contingent of agents to track Smittison's whereabouts." Perkins swiveled his graying head to look directly at Money, who squirmed under the superior's gaze. "Money, I expect you to report to me by sixteen hundred hours exactly which agents you wish to enlist for this contingent. Your orders are simple—track Smittison, and kill him."

"Yes, sir," Money said in much the same way as Tyler had. "I'll get on that immediately."

"As for the rest of you, keep an eye out for Smittison. If you detect _any_ unusual behavior that might pertain to the Smittison case, it is to be reported to Agent Curly." Perkins gestured at Agent Curly, a man in his middle-forties with a completely bald head. His name was stemmed from his immaculate imitation of any of the Three Stooges, Curly in particular. "Any questions?" When he saw that there were none, he snapped, "Good! Dismissed!"

Most of the agents present headed immediately for the door, but Agents Money and Neuro hung about with Val and Tyler. "I'm to escort the doctor back to her quarters," Neuro said stiffly when Tyler gave him the evil eye.

"Connell can do that well enough, Neuro, c'mon. Let's go grab some coffee before we have to pretend to work again. I, for one, will be up to my eyeballs in paperwork." Money clapped Neuro on the shoulder and started to push him from the room. "You coming, Dr. Lanier? Connell can catch us up."

"All right." Val pushed her chair back and followed the two agents, throwing distrusting looks at Neuro. She had not been sitting near either at the meeting, but she quickly found out that Money was a friendly sort of person with subtle jibes and a quick sense of humor. Neuro, once he was out of Tyler's presence, was friendly as well, and joked back at Money the whole way to the coffee machine. Both agents selected black coffee, but Val contented herself with a bottle of water from the machine adjacent.

"So what is the story between you and Connell, anyway?" Neuro asked after Money had guided them to a lounge of sorts nearby the coffee and soda machines.

Val sipped her water, face closing. "We dated once, we broke up, we left town. I went back home, he avoided me. We haven't seen each other in nine years." Her face told the two agents that this was the end of the story better than any words could.

"Right," Neuro said into the silence just as Tyler rounded the corner, visibly angry. "What's going on, Connell?"

"Nothing," he snapped at Neuro. To Val, he said, "Pack your things. We're going to Germany."

__

Segment Four: The Phone Call

Jamie did not bother to check the Caller I. D. when he picked up the phone in the kitchen, closed newspaper in one hand. "Waite here," he said, which was his usual way to answer the phone. He balanced the phone against his shoulder to reach for a piece of strawberry-jam covered toast. This was their usual Saturday morning meal. In the background, he could hear the TV going as Tanya and Jason watched the Saturday morning comics.

"Jamie? Oh, good. It's Hank." Hank's voice carried weariness over the phone line. Sensing this, Jamie frowned. "Listen, I've just been on the phone with Brooke."

"Brooke?" Jamie repeated, opening the newspaper and scanning the contents of the obituary section. It was a strange habit, to read this section first, but he had not been able to break himself of it. Seeing nobody he knew (or himself), he flipped over to the sports page. "How's she doing? She still with that Oliver fellow?"

On his end of the line, Hank laughed. "I should hope so! The wedding's only in September." Jamie could practically hear his friend sobering up from his jovial mood, however. "She knows where Val is—"

"Oh, that's great!" Jamie interrupted. "Caitie'll finally stop worrying, then!" As if she had been summoned by her name, his wife entered the dining room, her eyebrows high. Jamie signaled that he would explain in a moment, and she nodded, moving towards where dinner was being prepared in the crock-pot. Caitie's parents were coming over for dinner, mainly to see Tanya and Jason. "So, where is she?"

Hank hesitated and Jamie looked up so abruptly that he had to drop half of the newspaper to catch the phone. "That's the thing. Brooke's not allowed to say," Jamie heard Hank say even though the phone was not right next to his ear.

Jamie's hands felt cold as he returned the phone to his shoulder. "What, is Val in a conspiracy now?" He had dropped his voice, but he was positive Caitie had heard. She eyed him strangely as she cut up the carrots Tanya had peeled during one of the commercial breaks.

"From what I gathered, yes. Brooke's not positive when she'll be back, but where Val is, she's safe. That's all she can tell us." Hank paused. "So I guess our case is over, Detective Waite."

"We really stink at playing detective, then. I want to know where she really is. If Brooke can't tell us, we'll just have to find some other way to go around it." Jamie frowned at the receiver. "You're in cahoots with the people she works with. Could you talk to them and see if she dropped any hints?"

"What?" Hank sounded surprised, but he quickly continued. "Right. I'll do that, then. I'll get back with you later on that, even. Charlee and I need to head out to run some errands, so give Caitie and the kids our love."

"All right. I will talk to you later." They said their good-byes and Jamie hung up, frowning thoroughly at this new information. He took a large bit of toast before looking over and Caitie and jumping. She was giving him an expectant look, one eyebrow raised as she munched on a carrot stick. "Well, good news—Val wasn't kidnapped."

Caitie visibly sagged with relief, but her face did not change. "Good news? Does that mean there's bad news, too?"

Jamie smiled and folded the newspaper, vowing to get to it later. He moved towards the fridge in search of milk, dropping a kiss on top of his wife's head along the way. "You were always one step ahead of me," he told her, as he opened the fridge. "Brooke knows where Val is, thankfully, but she's not able to say."

"So Val could be in some kind of witness protection program?" Caitie demanded, carrots forgotten. "Is it because of Jeremy?"

Milk in hand, Jamie turned and shook his head. "Whatever it is, it isn't because of Jeremy. Remember when I told you I was going to Shiny's last night with Hank?" Caitie's lips pursed—she did not like Shiny's Pub at all, even if Jamie was not a heavy drinker. "Well, it was to ask Jeremy a few questions. He has no idea where she is."

"Isn't that point of a Witness Protection Program?" Caitie demanded. "So that the person after Val wouldn't know where she was?"

There was an explosion on TV and Tanya yelled, "Sorry, Mom! We'll change it!" Both Jamie and Caitie smiled as they heard the channels flip; the kids knew very well that they were not allowed to watch television shows with guns and explosions. (_Dexter's Laboratory _and _Pinky and the Brain _did not count)

"She isn't in there because of Jeremy, though. The police would have gotten him already if she were," Jamie said softly. "I think Val forgot to tell us something. Either that—or her infallible clumsiness buried her into something a lot deeper than any of us think."

Caitie paled, but nodded. "Very well. Are you and Hank still on the case?"

"Of course! Why shouldn't Superman and his faithful sidekick Hank take care of something so important?" Jamie teased. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe that _Garfield _is on and Jason and Tanya require my presence." Snatching a carrot stick on his way out, he tossed a grin over his shoulder at his wife and moved to the living room, where everything didn't have to be about "Auntie Val's" disappearance.


End file.
